


Behind Closed Doors

by orphan_account



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - High School, Clown Still Happened, Coming Out, Coming of Age, Flashbacks, M/M, More tags to be added, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Richie Goes To Therapy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-29
Updated: 2019-09-29
Packaged: 2020-11-07 19:08:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,267
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20822354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: “I have flashbacks.”The room sits in silence. The only sound is the gentle breathing of the two people sitting across from each other, cross legged in their seats. She stares at him and he waits for her to say something, anything that will alleviate the tension.She doesn’t.She only tilts her head forward as if to say go on.“I don’t even know what they are. I can’t remember them. Everything is blurred but I know it’s happening, I know I’m somewhere else. I just don’t know what’s happening.”“Where do you go?”Her voice is soft, soothing almost. He lets it wash over him and calm the thrumming in his veins.“I don’t know, that’s what’s so scary. It’s like I’m lost and the only thing I know is that I’m scared. I’m so scared.”———————————-Or, Richie goes to therapy during high school and works his shit out.





	Behind Closed Doors

“So, what’s going on today, Richie?”

“Nothing, really.”

“Nothing? Nothing at all?” Her soft smile teases its way into her voice and infects him a little bit. It. makes him shrug in neutrality, maybe just a little bit bashful of his white lie. 

“Nah, nothing out of the ordinary,” He smiles back at her and leans back in his chair a little bit. Not in a smug way, but in a comfortable way. His fingers lace together in tangled knots in the pocket of his hoodie. 

“Ordinary being…” She leans forward a little bit, elbow on her knees and chin in her hand. Her face is gently curious. 

“You know, the usual. Same as the past few weeks.”

“The same being lethargic, disconnected,” She says them slowly, emphasizing each word and looking at him expectantly. 

“Yeah, those.” He takes a deep breath in and lets his head fall onto the back of the couch. The ceiling is a blank white with little variety, smooth white paint glistening in the lamp light, but he looks up at it anyway. It’s more interesting than her piercing eyes, than the way she seems to be able to read him like a book. “I feel very disconnected.”

“More disconnected over lethargic?” Mindy asks. Christ, what a fucking name. _Mindy_. It sounds like something you’d only hear on a Saturday morning cartoon but here she was, sitting in front of him with her water bottle in her hand and her emotions written across her face. 

Mindy’s office is on the corner of Center and Main, right in the middle of town. It’s an easy walk from his house and an even easier walk from his high school. It makes coming here after class convenient and he’s thankful for that. He’s thankful for Mindy, too. Maybe he’s crazy, but at least he’s crazy with someone who’s a certified crazy specialist. 

“Maybe not _ more _ but it’s definitely bigger. I’m still exhausted but I feel like I’m moving in pieces. Like the world around me lags a little bit.”

“Tell me more about that, Richie.”

Another deep breath. His eyes flutter closed for a brief moment and behind them, he sees the traces of something he can’t articulate. 

_ Something washed over him, something cold and wet and gelatinous all at once. It wasn’t real – but it was. His stomach turned at the feeling of being covered head to toe in something so awful, something so imaginary. _

_ “The eye! Christ, it’s the crawling eye!” _

“I feel like everyone around me is living their lives and I’m not. Like, they’re all moving forward without me.”

“You’re not living your life,” she repeats, putting a small amount of emphasis on the word life. He lifts his head from the couch and looks at her for a second before glancing around the room. 

“I mean, yeah, I’m living life, sure.” There’s a hint of sarcasm in his voice as he says it, as if it should be obvious to her what’s real and what’s not. “But it's like I’m not here sometimes.”

“Where are you?”

“If I knew, I wouldn’t be here,” He can’t help but be an ass with her and, judging by the way she smiles, she doesn’t mind it much. It’s part of their mojo, the way they jive together. It’s part of the reason he keeps coming back. He likes her. He feels comfortable in this tiny office with hand-painted rivers on the wall, little knick knacks strewn about the shelves with books he’s never read the names of. 

“You feel disconnected sometimes, but not all of the time.” 

Richie nods, affirming her words. It’s not all the time, but it’s enough. 

“What’s happening for you when you start to feel this way?”

“Uh,” He starts and stops, trying to figure out how to describe the feelings. “Well, I can’t focus on anything. I feel like time passes really fast and really slow at the same time. Like, I could be in class and every single time I’d look at the clock it would feel like an hour passed, but it hadn’t even been fifteen minutes. But when the class finally ends it feels like I blinked and it was gone. I don’t know if that makes sense.”

“It does,” She reassures. “When was the last time you felt like this?”

“Today,” Richie says, thinking back on the school day. It wasn’t that long ago that he felt so far away from everything, so distant. 

“Can you tell me about what led up to it and what happened?”

_ “Eleven years of this shit and we’re still not allowed to go off school grounds for lunch,” Bev said, rolling her eyes. A brown bag sat in front of her, the contents spilled out onto the table before her. An apple, a shitty sandwich, and a bag of chips. She also had a milk carton but it didn’t come out of her lunch bag. Ben had bought it for her. _

_ “They don’t trust us,” Eddie said back. His lunch was more minimalistic, but still equally depressing. At least Bev had a bag of chips, all Eddie could get his mother to pack for him was a small container of grapes. Which, okay, grapes are delicious but a growing boy needs chips to fill him up. _

_ “For good reason,” Stan said. His eyes crossed the table and landed directly on Richie. Bev couldn’t help but snicker. _

_ “Hey, don’t look at me with those beady little eyes, Staniel,” Richie had said back. Then, his voice raised about two octaves in some poor rendition of a southern belle. “How dare you! Why, little ol’ me would never. I cannot believe you, accusing an innocent gal of such un-acc-eptable behavior.” _

_ Eddie shrieked with laughter, head falling back onto his shoulders. “Richie! God, that’s such a terrible voice!” _

_ Richie’s damsel in distress act dropped immediately and was replaced by a grin so wide it looked like his teeth were going to fall right out of his mouth. _

_ “Oh, yeah?” He hummed, leaning into Eddie’s space, “That’s my worst voice?” _

_ He reached over and snatched a couple grapes from Eddie’s plate, popping one in his mouth. _

_ “You asshole! Give me those!” _

_ “You want one?” Richie popped the last two in his mouth, but didn’t bite down. Eddie stared over at him, hands on the table as if he was about to launch himself at Richie. Richie simply smiled, opened his mouth, and stuck out his tongue a little bit to reveal the grapes. “Come and get them.” _

_ “God! You’re so disgusting!” _

_ “Not as disgusting as the things your mother says to me,” Richie sneers. He sticks his tongue out for good measure as steam practically bellows out of Eddie’s ears. _

_ “I fucking hate you!” _

_ Eddie looks like he’s about to say something else in that classic Eddie way but Bill cuts him off. “Ca-can it, you two. I ca-can’t listen to you to bicker every single day.” _

_ “Yeah,” Bev agrees, leveling Richie with a look that could kill. “I’m with Bill on this one. Can it or get a room.” _

_ The table busts out into laughter around them. Stan, Mike, and Ben all throw their heads back in immature cackles while Richie and Eddie glance first at each other, then their friends. _

_ “Whatever,” Richie huffs, crossing his arms and leaning back in his chair. “Don’t need a room with Eds. Pretty tied up with his mom every night.” _

_ Bev rolls her eyes at him and stick her own tongue out in a fake, over dramatic high school gag. “Get some new material, Trashmouth. Starting to wear thin on the masses.” _

_ The group carried on around him until the lunch bell sounded, signaling a swift but chaotic transition to their next classes. They’d all go their separate ways and Richie wouldn’t see any of them until after the school day ended. Maybe he wouldn’t even see any of them until tomorrow. He’s been too busy after school to hang out. Half-assed excuses hanging in the air between him and his friends as he snuck off to the center of town to chase his own sanity. _

_ Bev’s words hung with him, though. He wasn’t sure why they bothered him so much, but they did. They distracted him, made it so he couldn’t focus, couldn’t even breathe in his last few classes of the day. They passed by in something of a blur, something too distant and irrelevant to pay any attention to. Instead, he got lost in his own head, not even knowing where he was going or what he was doing next. _

“So, you went to lunch with your friends, joked around a little bit, and then started to feel yourself get disconnected?”

“Yeah,” Richie says, nodding a few times. “I was having fun, too! I don’t know what happened.”

“You talked to Eddie and Bev the most today, right?”

Richie nods again.

“And Bev was a little mean to you, today.”

“No way,” Richie says, shaking his head and sitting back again. He scratches the back of his head and scrunches his eyes up before continuing. “We always talk to each other like that, it’s part of our friendship. We wouldn’t be Bev and Richie without it.”

“Do you feel this way other times you talk to each other like that?”

“Nah,” Riche waves her off. “I don’t know what was different about today. Maybe she struck a chord telling me to get some new material. I’m the funny one, I don’t need new material.”

_ A hand caught him as he walked into his last class of the day. It settled itself firmly in the crook of his elbow and effectively stopped him from going anywhere. He felt like his entire heart jump into his throat. _

_ “Hey, got a second?” Eddie’s voice came from behind him. _

_ Eddie’s voice. Christ, it was only Eddie. _

_ Richie turned on his heels and smiled down at Eddie, begging his body to calm down, for his heart rate to slow and steady but it wouldn’t. It stayed in his throat, constricting and making it hard to breathe. _

_ “Sure, Spaghetti, anything for my favorite plate of pasta.” The words definitely came out okay and it made him feel better, if only a little bit. _

_ “Fuck off,” Eddie rolled his eyes but there was a smile on his face, a patented Kaspbrak beamer. “Are you busy after school?” _

_ “Aw shucks, sorry, Eds.” Eddie’s face fell a little bit at Richie’s words and, all at once, he wished he could take them back. He can’t, though. He’d been waiting for his appointment all week, there’s no way he’s going to skip it. _

_ “Too busy with Assholes Anonymous?” _

_ Richie threw his head back and a laugh ripped through him. He wound an arm around Eddie’s shoulder and pulled him close, shouting, “Eddie Confetti gets off a good one!” right in his ear. _

_ God, it felt good to laugh with Eddie. And for one second there, he felt like both of his feet were planted firmly on the ground. The second he lifted his arm off of Eddie, though, and Eddie walked down the hall with his middle finger held high, Richie could feel it lifting him again; that sense of disconnected weightlessness mixed with a fluttering heartbeat. _

_ And for a second there, he swore Eddie’s arm was in a cast and he was walking through a meadow, tall grass tickling his shins. Richie could feel a warm breeze on his arms, could hear his friends murmuring around him but he couldn’t see them. All he could see was Eddie walking into that blinding sunset. _

_ Until someone shoulder checked him into the doorframe. Then, all he could see was the dim fluorescent lights of Derry High and about a thousand classmates he couldn’t give two shits _about. 

“I have flashbacks.”

The room sits in silence. The only sound is the gentle breathing of the two people sitting across from each other, cross legged in their seats. She stares at him and he waits for her to say something, _ anything _that will alleviate the tension. 

She doesn’t.

She only tilts her head forward as if to say go on. 

“I don’t even know what they are. I can’t remember them. Everything is blurred and I know it’s happening, I know I’m somewhere else. I just don’t know _ what’s _ happening.”

“Where do you go?”

Her voice is soft, soothing almost. He lets it wash over him and calm the thrumming in his veins. 

_ “Ben! Ben, it’s got me!” _

_ A high-pitched shriek pierced his ear but he didn’t know where it was coming from, didn’t know who was screaming so high pitched and pained. Who’s out here with me? Please, help me. I’ll help you if you help me. _

“I don’t know, that’s what’s so scary. It’s like I’m lost and the only thing I know is that I’m scared. I’m so scared.”

Richie can feel cold sweat on the back of his neck. This isn’t something he liked to think about, much less talk about. This whole thing is probably a stupid idea. He sounds fucking crazy. He’s having flashbacks to something he can’t remember? Fuck, something that probably didn’t even happen. The voices in his head, those childhood screams, they’re too familiar but they’re too unrealistic. It’s downright bonkers. _ He’s _downright bonkers. 

“You seem scared right now.” Her tone isn’t accusatory, but it doesn’t let him off the hook either. It makes him acutely aware of how he’s sitting, what he’s doing. It makes him roll his shoulders and try to sink back into the cushions, give off the illusion of comfort. 

“No, I’m not scared right now,” Richie says back. His voice doesn’t shake, it doesn’t betray the way his heart is beating quicker in the center of his chest. 

“What are you feeling right now?” She asks him. Her head tilts to the side, hardly noticeable, and she takes a drink from her water bottle. Richie watches her do it and he can feel his own throat going dry while he sits on her question. 

“I don’t know,” He says honestly. He really doesn’t know what he’s feeling. He’s feeling _ something _ but it sure as hell isn’t fear. It’s not the ice cold horror that washes over him at night or in the barrens or sometimes in the hallways. It’s muted, more surprised than that. “I’m not good with feelings.”

“Can you try for me?” She says, voice still gentle, still inviting. 

“Sure,” he says back. His eyes fall down to his hands, fingers caught together in the bowl of his lap. He nudges the cuticle on his nail back a little bit, watches the skin bend slightly under the pressure, and then takes a deep breath. 

“Take you time, Richie.”

What is he feeling? What’s in that box, Richie? What have you locked so deep, deep down that not even you can access it?

When he closes his eyes, he can see his friends standing one by one in a circle, hands clasped together, He doesn’t know why he sees it, but he does. He has no memories of the seven of them ever standing like that, they have no reason to stand like that. When they’re together, they stand however they want. They stand in jagged little lines and broken pods. They clique off in ways that allow them to still see and hear everyone. Sometimes Richie will walk with Stan, nudging his shoulder and teasing him. Sometimes he’ll walk with Bev, lazy arm slung around her shoulders with her leaning into him. He sees them all, every single day. They don’t stand like this. 

“I’m frustrated, I guess,” Richie says. He’s not sure how much time has passed, but when he opens his eyes Mindy is no longer cross legged. She’s now leaning back, ankles crossed underneath the chair and water bottle sitting neatly on the desk. 

“Frustrated,” She echoes back to him. His words, her voice. 

“Yeah, frustrated. I don’t know. I just – I don’t understand.”

“What is it that you don’t understand?”

“Why I’m like this,” Richie says. His head fall into his hands, then, and his fingers tangle in his hair. 

“Why you can’t remember?”

Richie nods, silence falling over them again. He doesn’t get it. He doesn’t understand why he’s so fucked up, why he needs to be in therapy in the first place. He can remember lunch today, he can remember lunch yesterday. He can remember everything that’s ever happened to him in his lifetime. But he can’t remember these feelings or these moments, when he’s being pulled into another dimension by something so strong and unseen. 

“Sometimes, our minds repress big traumas to protect ourselves. When something big and terrible happens, our brain wipes it clean as a way to keep moving forward. Some things are so great and big and bad that if we were able to think about them whenever we wanted, we would become overwhelmed.”

“Wait, do you think something bad happened to me?” Richie’s head shoots up out of his hands and he looks at Mindy. Her eyes are sympathetic and Richie feels like he’s drowning in them for a moment. 

_ “Richie! Richie! Get it! It’s just an eye!” _

_ What’s just an eye? How can something be just an eye? This isn’t making sense but for some reason, he feels like he’s rooted in place, stuck to the ground and waiting for the worst of it to happen. He’s waiting for it all to come to an end one way or another. _

“I don’t know, Richie. Maybe. I’m not too focused on what happened, though. Maybe something did, maybe something didn’t. I’m more concerned about the you that’s sitting in my office. If something comes up, then we’ll address it, but I want to focus on you, right here, right now.”

Richie nods, letting his head fall back down as his eyes lifelessly scan the carpet. There’s no way in two fresh hells and a box of pretzels that something bad happened to him and he doesn’t remember it. He remembers every bad thing that’s happened to him since the first grade; every skinned knee, every spilled milk, every run in with Bowers. They're carved into him in ways he can’t shake. There’s no fucking way he forgot something that could make him feel so big and yet so small at the same time. 

“Gotta get off that therapist pot, Mindy, you’ve been sitting up there too long. Getting crazy ideas all up in your head,” He says it with a smile and a smooth tone but he can feel her look past it. 

“I’m not saying anything either which way, Richie. Whatever this is, though, we can figure it out together. Work on these disconnections and flashbacks until we’ve put all the pieces together.”

Richie feels the corners of his mouth pull up ever so slightly, something a little more automatic and a little more genuine than his statement only a few seconds prior. Mindy shares his expression. 

Mindy hums and smiles, nodding. “I want you to pay attention to how you’re feeling this week – maybe keep a journal – but make sure you’re noting when you start to feel disconnected and what happened directly before it. It could be an interaction, a conversation, or just something that was going through your mind. Write as much down as you can, even your flashbacks. We can go through any pieces you’d like to share next week. I think it could be helpful to get a better idea of what’s happening.”

**Author's Note:**

> Me? Taking on another multichapter fic while I'm swamped in school work? More likely than you'd think. 
> 
> I'm a therapist in training and sometimes on my drive home I think about how the Loser's would respond if they were in therapy. This is what I came up with. 
> 
> I hope you like it. 
> 
> Come chat @ reddie-for-anything.tumblr.com !


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